


The Swordsman and The Gunslinger

by Prodigal Overwatch (Prodigal_Sunlight), Prodigal_Sunlight



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (i'm very romantic i swear), Focus on adventure and drama but defo a shippy center, Genji x McCree, Happy 2018 Halloween, Junkenstein's Revenge, Junkenstein's Revenge AU, M/M, McGenji - Freeform, Oni Genji, Probo gonna write some more :D, Swordslinger AU, This was a lot of fun to write, Van Helsing McCree, dumb boys crying, dumb boys flirting, dumb boys threatening to shoot each other, poor ana just wants a stiff drink and for pharah to be Not Dead, poor sweet mommy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prodigal_Sunlight/pseuds/Prodigal%20Overwatch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prodigal_Sunlight/pseuds/Prodigal_Sunlight
Summary: A "Junkenstein's Revenge" AUWhile visiting the Alchemist, Genji meets a wounded monster hunter. Careful to keep his mask on for fear of a fight, he heals the stranger and makes conversation. The two match wits, and Genji finds himself attracted to this strange man from the woods. But he can't help the odd feeling that something about this man is familiar. . . is it just his imagination? Or does this strange "Jesse McCree" feel the familiarity too?EDIT: Holy wow, you guys gave this a lot of love, hahah. Thank you so much for all your support! I've decided to go ahead and write another chapter, so keep an eye out for that soon!





	1. Chapter One

If you had a bad run in with the supernatural, there were only two people who could help you; the Alchemist or the Witch.

The Alchemist was an elderly sharpshooter by the name of Ana Amari, a reclusive woman who studied the healing arts. She was talented, but only human.

If you went to the Witch instead, you'd be saved for certain. Some said she could even raise the dead. But her miracles always came at a steep price.

So for those who feared dark magic and servitude eternal, Amari was the one they turned to when in need.

Of course, there were exceptions to the rule.

Genji slipped through the window of the wooden alchemy cabin, tightening his mask. "You're looking well Captain Amari," he greeted, setting a bundle of dried herbs on the wooden slab in front of her.

She smacked a cleaver's knife through the herbs and into the wood, so close to Genji's fingers he could feel the wood bend. "Save your compliments," she grumbled, dicing the stems with more ferocity than necessary.

Genji sat on the counter, dangling his legs. In a soft glow of green light, his dragon manifested, perched across his shoulders like a silent, noodley sentinel. "You seem cheerful," he said dryly. "Another letter?"

"I've told Jamison a thousand times I have no interest in assisting his research. He is a fool to think anything but dark magic can undo death," Ana said, brushing the dried herbs into a bowl of water. She paused, taking a moment to sigh. "Even if I desperately wish it weren't so."

Genji paused, looking away as if his mask didn't already hide the guilt on his face. Ana had always been kind to him; in return for running odd jobs, she let him eat and sleep in her home any time he was in the area. But he'd long since realized how much of a painful reminder he was of her failures.

The Witch had brought a boy back from the dead to serve her.

The Alchemist could not even save her own daughter.

Genji tried to think of something comforting to say, but before he could even try, Ana was already back at work, her heart boxed squarely away.

"Never mind Junkenstein," she said, grabbing a pair of metal tongs and crouched in front of her old blackened stove. "There's a man waiting for treatment in the front room. Go see how bad it is, and patch him up if you can,” she said, pulling out a chunk of glowing coal.

Nodding, Genji grabbed the small box by the door, checking to make sure it was well stocked. He’d try and apologize for upsetting her later. With a wave of his hand, his dragon disappeared in a wisp of smokey light. He pressed his shoulder into the door, swinging it open.

Most common folk avoided monsters. They barred their windows at night and hoped nothing hungry would come creeping past. It was like a pack of rabid wolves; there was nothing you could do but hide and hope you aren’t worth their time.

Then again, there was the occasional monster hunter, and anyone with eyes could tell you this man was one.

He was a ruggedly built man, dressed in rough leather smeared in fresh blood, not all of it human. Dark, wavy brown hair fell to his shoulders, framing his face beneath a hat with a wide brim. He was fairly handsome, actually, but that was not what struck Genji.

The man felt strangely familiar.

The stranger’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Genji. He turned to reach for his gun, but Genji was used to such greetings. “Calm yourself,” he said, feeling a small flicker of amusement. “It’s only a mask.”

The man paused a moment, cheeks flushing red as he realized his mistake. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, speaking in a strange, foreign accent, sinking down into one of the wooden chairs Ana kept for her patients. “You ain’t Amari, right?”

“No,” he said, dropping the box of medicines unceremoniously on the table. “Just a friend. And you?”

“McCree,” the man said, taking a moment to rub his side, grimacing. “Jesse McCree. A fella I met once said this was the place to come if I ran into trouble.”

He felt as though he’d heard the name before, but still, he couldn’t place it. He knew this man wasn’t from his clan, and he couldn’t recall meeting him in his travels. Maybe he was only imagining it.

“Ana is very busy,” Genji said, looking Jesse over, sizing up his wounds. “Here.” He through a bundle of rags to him. “Soak up some of that blood, let’s see how bad it is.”

Jesse took a deep breath, wincing as he pressed the rags into his side, trying to mop up as much of the blood as he could. “So what’s with the mask anyway? D’you wear it for a reason?”

Genji reached up, his fingers briefly brushing the mask’s smooth surface, tracing the paint. “I am scarred. That is all.” To say that was all was hardly honest. Without the mask, anyone could see the unnatural anemic color of his skin. It wouldn’t take a monster hunter to recognize it as something unworldly. He preferred that few know of his ties to the Witch.

Some would kill people for lesser crimes.

“That clean enough for you?” Jesse asked tiredly, dropping the bloody rags in a bucket of water at the side of his chair, taking a long deep breath in. “I’d prefer we skip to the part where I stop bleeding.”

Genji came closer, crouching down to get a better look at the gash in Jesse’s waist. He traced the wound gently with his finger tips. He couldn’t say why, but his heart beat harder with the soft, almost intimate contact. He quickly pulled away, forcing himself to think straight. “Even I could patch this up. All it needs is disinfectant, a strong healing salve, and the skin should start mending itself. The jacket is another story,” he said, rifling around in the box.

“Healing salve?” Jesse said, frowning, giving the box a distrusting glance. “I didn’t know this Amari person was an alchemist.”

“What’s wrong with alchemy?” Genji asked, soaking a wash cloth in the yellow, strong–smelling disinfection potion.

Jesse paused, considering the question for a moment. “I dunno. I’m just not really sure how I feel about it. Just seems like a lot of hocus pocus to me.”

“You can try and dissolving the shrapnel without alchemy if you’d like,” Genji offered. “But I haven’t seen anyone manage that quite yet.” He pressed the cloth into the wound, trying to match how Ana had taught him. He couldn’t help but notice how strong Jesse’s core was, strong with hours of training and scarred with years of fighting.

“Damn,” Jesse said, letting out a low surprised whistle. “Didn’t even realize there was shrapnel in—ow, ow, ow! Don’t press so hard there!” he cried out, shooting Genji a pout.

Genji smiled, biting back a small laugh at Jesse’s expression, filling a swell of warmth in his chest. “If you didn’t want it to hurt, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” he said. Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair—usually he was the one limping into Ana’s house, covered in bruises and blood. Still, he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re a cheeky one, you know that?” Jesse huffed, raising an eyebrow. “Anyway, you never told me who you are. You her kid or something?”

“Not exactly,” Genji said, wringing the cloth out into the wooden bucket. “I’m a traveler and a fighter by trade and by nature. But Ana Amari has shown me many kindnesses, so I help her when I can.”

Jesse paused, considering his answer. “A traveler and a fighter? You don’t seem like the soldiering type. So, a bounty hunter then?”

Genji shook his head, reaching into the box for a bottle of healing potion, giving it a quick shake. “Not quite. It’s more that I have a few debts still unpaid.” He pried off the lid, pouring some of the viscous purple and gold liquid across Jesse’s side. After a moment, it soaked in, and before their very eyes, the blood began to flow faster, the skin and tissue growing weaving itself together until the wound was nothing but a faint pink blood stain.

Jesse blinked, chuckling in surprise. “Well, I’ll be. Stung a little, but it worked. Still think I prefer the not so spooky way.”

“You get used to it,” Genji said, corking the bottle. He started moving things back into the box, making sure to put them back in the right order to avoid another lecture from Ana.

“So, why is it that you wear that mask anyhow?” Jesse asked, leaning forward curiously.

Genji hesitated, taking a moment to recollect himself. He pushed to his feet, stretching as he turned away. “Because I’m absolutely hideous,” he said calmly.

“Oh, come on,” Jesse said, smirking, arching one eyebrow. “Fellow as charming as you are can’t be all that bad. After all, I like what I can see.”

Genji laughed. He tried to stick out his tongue—only to remember his mask was in the way. “I’m sure you say that to all the masked strangers who patch you up,” he said.

Jesse laughed too, but it was a bit softer, as if Genji’s joke reminded him of not so happy memories. “We’ve all got scars, y’know. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

He fell silent, turning his back on Jesse. As much as he hated his scars, he wished that were the worst of it. Something inside of him was aching to pull off the mask, show someone what he was now.

But this man was a monster hunter.

And these days, Genji wasn’t so certain he wasn’t a monster himself.

“My mask is of little importance to you,” Genji said, drawing his sword. He sat in an empty chair, resting it across his knees and picked up a small alchemized whetstone Ana kept around for his visits. He fell silent as he sharpened the edge of his sword, careful not to meet the other man’s eyes.

“Don’t know many folk who still use a sword,” Jesse said, standing up. He picked up the leather traveling pack he’d left by the door, slinging it over his shoulder. He glanced back, offering a dulled smile. “Seems a bit old–fashioned to me. After all, no one’s faster than a bullet.”

Genji snorted, glancing up from his work with a small smile. “Oh really?” he asked. “Why don’t we find out?”

Jesse froze. His bag fell from his shoulder. He did not meet Genji’s gaze.

“Who. . .” he turned slowly to face Genji. His hands were shaking. He took a small step back, as if he’d been struck. “Who are you?”

Genji paused, setting his sword aside with a frown. “Did I say something to upset you, gunslinger?” he asked, pushing to his feet with a confused smile.

Click. Jesse leveled his six–shooter at Genji. His hands aim was steady, but his voice shook. “Take off that mask,” he said. He lowered his head, the brim of his hat hiding his expression.

Genji took a few steps back. He raised his hands above his head, swallowing. His heart pounded in his chest. His breathing was short. Ragged. He glanced at his sword. Was it worth the risk? “I said take off the mask,” Jesse repeated. His tone was fiercer now. Angry? No, that wasn’t it. Scared?

“I don’t want any trouble,” Genji said. It felt as if the floor was heaving beneath him. His head ached. His hands tightened into fists. He stared the other man down. He did not blink. How much might he miss if he dared?

“Take off the damn mask!”

Genji flinched back, watching as Jesse glared. He held his chin high now, the light catching his face. He was flushed, breathing quickly, panicked. His cheeks were soaked in tears.

Slowly, Genji lowed his hands. He pressed his palm against the mask, reaching behind, undoing the knot beneath his hood. He let the mask slip into his hand. He took a long, slow deep breath. Squaring his shoulders and mustering his courage, he lifted his head, letting the mask fall free from his face. Genji looked up at the man bitterly, waiting for the inevitable horror as he saw the twisted scars and horrific patterns that marred his face.

The man would shoot him now, he was certain. But he had died before. Even if Ana was not quick enough to save him, he still had debts to pay. The Witch of the Wild did not release her servants so easily.

Jesse dropped his gun.

He took a few steps forward. His face was pale, his eyes sort, hurt. He put a hand to his mouth, as if trying not to cry out, his shoulders heaving. He spoke, his voice soft and unsteady, his words cracking under the pressure.

“Genji?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation and an interrogation. McCree takes a nap. Ana makes some tea and loads a gun. Genji confronts a past he doesn't remember.

Genji reeled back, his heart catching in his chest. Something about hearing this man say his name made him feel sick. Not angry or disgusted, no. It felt more like seasickness, or falling off a cliff. He stared at Jesse, searching his head, trying to recollect ever meeting this man. “How do you know my name?” he asked shakily, stepping closer to his sword.

“You were dead—” Jesse said, staring in disbelief. He suddenly cut himself off. “I saw you die. You were. . .you are dead. How? How is this possible?”

No. That couldn’t be right. There had been no one there after Hanzo had left him to die. He had been alone. He must be lying, or mistaken, or something. “Who are you?” Genji asked stiffly, curling his fingers, ready to spring for his sword at a moment’s notice.

Bang!

The monster hunter stumbled. Jesse tried to catch himself, only to upend the first aid box. He fell to the floor, potions shattering around him.

“Iilah jyd!” Ana hurried over, grabbing Genji by the chin, turning his head to see if he was hurt. “Why aren’t you wearing your mask? I heard shouting. What happened?” She asked, switching quickly between motherly and accusatory 

“I don’t know,” Genji said, pulling away, flushing pink. Somehow, she always made him feel like a small child caught playing in the mud. He glanced at Jesse, hesitating, feeling a surge of concern in his chest. He tried to ignore it—he hardly knew this man. But he couldn’t help asking. “Is he. . .”

“Just a sleeping potion,” Ana said dismissively, still looking Genji over, as if not entirely convinced he wasn’t full of bullet holes. She planted her hands on her hips, giving him her nastiest scowl. “Stupid, stupid boy, scaring me like that. Sit down,” she ordered, trying to regain her composure. “I’ll make us some tea, and then you can tell me what you’ve done this time.”

He considered telling her it wasn’t his fault, but in all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure. After what just happened—whatever that was—he wasn’t sure of just about anything anymore.

Genji slumped down in his chair, taking a slow deep breath in. He paused a moment, enjoying the soft, cool air of Ana’s cabin on his skin. It was nice, not having his every breath cycling back. Still, he reached up and slowly tied his mask back in place. Better safe than sorry, after all. Maybe this incident was proof of that much.

His thoughts were interrupted by loud, ragged snoring, as sharp and noisy as a fog horn. Naturally, it came from the only person asleep in the room.

Looking back at Jesse, Genji bent down, brushing a few shards of the broken glass away from the sleeping man’s face. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. But for some reason, doing the small kindness made him smile.

Charity aside, though, he still wanted answers.

Genji picked up Jesse’s bag, grabbing a chair before dropping it unceremoniously on his lap. There wasn’t much inside, really. There was a box of bullets and a box of cigars. In one pocket, there was an empty flask that smelled strongly of whisky. At the bottom were a couple of coins, a compass, and a few stained photos. Nothing shocking or scandalous. No big reveal. Just trash. Disappointing.

Ana came back from the other room with two earthen mugs, each half–filled with tea. Genji accepted his quietly, holding the warm cup on top of the bag. Ana’s tea wasn’t anything like the kind he’d grown up with back home, but he didn’t mind all that much. In fact, her tea had come to be almost as comforting.

He sat silently in the thin cloud of chamomile, lavender, and peppermint, waiting as Ana slowly sat down, her joints creaking. She leaned her rifle up against the wall next to her before taking a long, quiet sip from her own cup. Ana set the cup on the arm of her chair, rubbing her temples, then took a long, slow deep breath. “The sleep potion I used wasn’t incredibly potent, so he’ll be waking up in a few minutes,” she said pointedly. “You need to tell me what happened so I know what to do when he does wake up.”

Genji shook his head slowly, staring again down at Jesse, still snoring on the floor. “He said his name was Jesse McCree,” he began. “After I’d given him a potion, he was on his way out. I said. . .something, I can’t remember what, and he froze up. He started yelling for me to take off my mask, and. . .” Genji frowned, crossing his arms. “He recognized me. Or at least, he seemed to. He knew my name, knew that I’ve died. But I swear, I’ve never met him before in my life.”

Ana frowned, looking down at Jesse, giving him a good look over for the first time. She paused, taking a sip of her tea thoughtfully. “Is it possible,” she asked carefully, “That he recognized you because he too is bound to the Witch of the Wilds?”

“No.” Genji felt like he should be surprised at his own certainty, but the tie between the Witch and her servants was so strong, he couldn’t imagine not knowing if Jesse was one right away. “I don’t think so, at least. He didn’t have any of the marks of overuse of dark magic either. Not like I do,” Genji added bitterly.

“Well then,” Ana said, sighing. “It seems the best way to find out is to ask him ourselves.” She kicked Jesse’s gun, knocking it under a chair and out of sight. Grabbing her rifle, she nudged his head with the butt. “Come on, enough snoring from you. Wake up. Wake up!” she said, whacking him hard enough to make Genji wince.

Jesse groaned, cringing as he rubbed his head. He tried to sit up, but his movements were clumsy and awkward, still weighed down with the potion’s after effects. “Gah, that’s one way to wake a fella up,” he grunted, fighting a yawn.

Click, slide.

“What, did you not like your wake up call sleeping beauty?” Ana asked, her loaded rifle aimed right between Jesse’s eyes. “I’m not as young as I used to be, so I don’t have lots of time to waste. What do you want?”

He seemed surprisingly unperturbed by the weapon pointed at him, as if it was something he had grown used to. “Damn, at least gimme a second to get my bearings before y’all interrogate me. Where am I? What—” Jesse’s eyes met Genji’s shadowed behind the mask. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. After a moment, he silently mouthed Genji’s name, as if he could hardly trust his own memory.

“Where do you hail from?” Genji asked stiffly, looking away. He couldn’t hold their shared gaze. It felt like Jesse could see right through his mask, all the way through to his bones. There was something so unnerving about it, about the look of familiarity from a stranger.

“America,” Jesse said slowly, sitting up straight. He didn’t so much as glance at the barrel of Ana’s gun, as if nothing else mattered. He watched Genji so intently. What, did this man think he might vanish in a gust of smoke? “Tell me I’m remembering wrong, but you—”

“Yes,” Genji interrupted. He set his tea down. If he held it any longer, his shaking hands might slip. “You are remembering correctly. So, gunslinger. How do you know me?”

Jesse pushed to his feet, taking a hesitant step forward. He was pale, ragged, as though he’d been left out in the rain for too long. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice quiet. “Don’t you recognize me?”

‘Yes. Yes, I recognize you, but I don’t know why, I don’t know where. Why do I feel like this?’ Genji clenched his teeth, forcing the thoughts to stay inside. If he spoke them, he might scream. “I have never seen you before today.”

His shoulders slumped, and he stared, silent, doubtful “Genji,” he said. His voice was hardly anything but a whisper. It came out flat. Tired. “Genji. What happened to you?” He cautiously stepped closer. Slowly, Jesse raised his hand. He reached out, as if to touch Genji, to feel if he was really there. But between Ana’s glare and the way Genji froze, he thought better of it.

“You say you know me,” Genji said, his mouth dry. “Prove yourself. Tell me something I tell no one else, or how we met, or anything that proves your honesty.”

For a moment, Jesse was silent. He lowered his head, the wide brim of his hat masking his expression. The quiet dragged on long enough the Ana opened her mouth to speak when Jesse finally said his part. “Chocolate.”

Ana paused, glancing at Genji with a frown. “Excuse me?” she said, looking back at Jesse distrustingly. “We should forget this. I doubt he knows any—”

“You. . . love chocolate. And fireflies,” he interrupted. “You never. . . you never learned to swim, because you were afraid of water until you were nine. And you first learned to use that sword because your brother was no good at it, and y’thought maybe it could be the one thing you’d be better than him at, and—”

Genji flinched back. He knocked his mug from the chair. It shattered on the floor, tea soaking into the old floorboards. He stood on shaky feet, staring. Closer, one slow step. His heart pounded in his throat. “I told that to no one,” he said quietly. His voice shook.

Jesse leaned in. They were hardly a breath apart. Both men searched the other’s eyes for answers. “You were looking through my bag,” he said quietly. They were close enough that Genji could smell the cigar on his breath. “Did you see the pictures?”

They were nothing. Except, were they? Turning away, Genji crouched by the upended bag, picking them up carefully. He could hardly breathe. He forced himself to turn them over.

Three photographs. Even the first was jarring; it was of Genji. He was sleeping beneath a tree on a hill. Behind him, beautiful homes, sheltered by the valley. Home. A broad brimmed hat sat low across his face, keeping the sun from his eyes. It was bright, and the trees were blossoming; spring.

The second was familiar; Genji still kept a copy himself. It was a photo printed for a newspaper, featuring the Shimada family attending a political gathering, their two sons front and center. They all stood near to each other, himself and Hanzo especially. They’d been close then. It was three months before their father died.

He recognized nothing in the last.

It was a waterfall; where he didn’t know, it was strange, unfamiliar. There were odd buildings on either side, advertising new technology or fashionable clothing. He was in this picture too, even though he couldn’t recall it being taken. He was laughing, or talking, it was hard to tell.

He was with Jesse.

They had their arms around each other, smiling, their side’s pressed into each other. They were ignoring the camera, too busy, too focused on each other. It was a beautiful, fun, warm day.

It had never happened.

Genji stood. The papers fell, landing silently. He stared at the opposite wall. His expression was blank. His hands shook. He swallowed the bile in throat, clenching his teeth.

“Tell me everything,” he said, his voice hoarse when he spoke. Cautiously, he stepped closer. He met Jesse’s eyes, his gaze electric behind the mask. “Tell me everything you know.” Jesse paused, stepping closer to speak, his eyes intense.

It was then he caught fire.

Genji reared back. He screamed, dropping to his knees. He clawed at his face, shaking, trying desperately to catch his breath. There was no fire—none he could see. But he could feel it in his skin. He could hear their voices. Ana was yelling, Jesse was yelling, but he couldn’t hear them, couldn’t hear anything.

Static. No, that wasn’t it. Flames, crackling, hissing, echoing in his ears. He could hear a voice, sharp as ice and fierce as fire. “Raasta khula hai,” the woman’s voice hissed.

He forced himself to stand, his feet shaking. His breath was short, ragged.

“Genji? Genji, what’s wrong?” He could feel a soft touch beyond the fire, a gentle hand resting on his arm, skin on skin. He could feel it, clammy and shaking against him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who it was. Should he speak? Could he?

A voice cut through the ringing. “Genji,” she said, her voice sharp, stiff. Through the throbbing and the pain, he made out a familiar face. Ana stepped closer, her expression dark. “McCree will wait with me. I promise. You must answer the call while you can still stand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Thanks for all the love and support you guys, I've been really loving writing this. If the support keeps up, I might be able to turn this into a full on story. I'm planning at least to do a chapter three, but if I keep getting as much support as I get, this might turn into a pretty long fic. Thank you all so much!
> 
> Seriously though? Ana doesn't screw around. I love playing as her so dang much, she's just, so fantastic and awesome. Dang <3
> 
> . . .
> 
> I think I'm leave a hint for the next chapter. It's gonna really get crazy there, haha. Let's just say. . . "Ich bin da." >:D


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return and a new assignment. Genji faces the truth. The Summoner tries to sympathize. The Witch of the Wilds makes her grand appearance.

It had been nearly a year since he’d been last summoned; he'd still been training with Master Zenyatta. In fact, some might dare say that after so long, Genji must have nearly forgotten the pain of the dragon’s fire. But some pain is not so easily lost to memory.

He took a shaky deep breath, giving into the calling. The world around him burned like the heart of a star, everything glowing a bright shade of crimson. He could make out voices, distant and indistinct. The Alchemist. The Monk. The Lord of the Castle.

The Gunslinger.

And then the light was gone.

Genji stumbled, falling to his knees. He tried to catch his breath, heart racing as he gripped the jagged edges of pedestal he’d materialized on.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He glance up, meeting a pair of golden eyes, flickering hellishly. Genji forced himself to stand, taking a cautious step back. “Has it really been so long?”

Trying to rub the heat out of his fingers, Genji avoided her sharp gaze. There were many stories about what the eyes of a dragon could do. He would prefer not to find out first hand. “A little bit of warning would be welcome, Symmetra,” he said sharply.

The dragon demon sighed, waving her hand at the pedestal. “The way is closed,” she said, putting out the rings of red light. “I see little need for this hostility, little demon,” Symmetra said. With a flourish of her hands, she formed an elegant seat of glowing magma, sitting herself down with the grace and elegance dignity of a countess. “You and I are quite alike in our stories. Your people even make habits of calling upon my ancestors for strength.”

“The difference between us is I am not satisfied in being bound to the Witch,” Genji said, stepping down from the enchanted teleportation pedestal, throbbing with resting magic. He glanced around, taking in the familiar hall with a frustrated swelling of despair.

It was the hall he had walked in many times before, long and wide. The walls were trees, growing so close together even his blade could not pass between them, the vaulted ceiling, woven so tightly of their branches the sky could not be seen beyond. The hall was lined with small globes of glowing, golden light, small, and round, and beautiful. Or at least, they would be, if Genji had not seen where the Witch found them.

“You should not pretend to know my reasons for staying in this place,” Symmetra said dismissively, opening a small, glowing portal of red beneath her hands. She looked into it, no doubt spying on some clueless soul at the command of her master. “The Witch of the Wilds is patient, but like me, she does not care for her time being wasted. She is certainly awaiting you.”

Genji nodded, turning his back on the Summoner, striding down the hall. “Good,” he said, trying not to show the fear building in his chest. “I have questions for her.”

Suddenly, the Summoner had come up behind him, a hand on his shoulder. He turned quickly, coming face to face with her, her expression dark and solemn. “Be cautious,” she warned, hissing softly. “The Witch of the Wilds does not take disrespect lightly.”

Genji slid back his mask, taking a deep breath. He put a hand to his cheek, feeling the scars of dark magic on his face, a reminder of the reason he could even breath. “I know,” he said.

Symmetra stepped back, letting go of him, watching him quietly. He thought he caught a glimpse of sympathy in her eyes. But he was tired of her faked empathy, and kept walking.

At times he passed thickets, curled into doors. In some rooms, less magic users cast potions and sent creatures to spy in the name of the Witch. In others, the less fortunate clawed at the wood, begging for release, knowing even death could not free them.

Except for the room woven out of cherry trees.

It was at the end of the hall, where it branched into two. Most of the structure was woven of the wild trees of the forest, except these two special groves. One chamber was the hall of olive trees, a daunting, shadowy room where the Witch of the Wilds met with her servants. He knew that was where he needed to go.

The second room was forbidden to everyone. It was dark, and small, and between the branches that sealed the door, Genji could just see inside. It was nearly empty, all except for a raised pedestal, surrounded by small white and gold six petaled flowers. On the pedestal sat a single glass jar. It glowed golden and white, a small orb pulsing in the center. It was something he had seen many times before, the souls of the Witch. But the thing he could never understand was the violet and black smoke curling around it, staining the soul.

Genji did not spend to long staring at the cherry room. He had his own demons to be dealing with.

The branches crisscrossing the door to the Witch’s chamber parted when he came close, twisting away to let him pass through. He grimaced, watching as they sealed behind him.

The Witch sat across the room, resting in her throne, her broom held casually in one hand. She smiled softly, brushing a loose strand of golden hair from her face. “Ah, Mister Shimada! You’re looking well, considering your. . . condition. How long has it been?”

“Cut the shit,” Genji said. He tightened his hands into fists, taking a shaky deep breath. He wanted nothing more than to drive his blade through her chest, but he knew he would be dead before he so much as touched the hilt. “I need answers, Witch.”

She sighed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “You know I prefer my servants refer to me as Mercy. But tell me what you mean. Is it that you want answers on why I had you summoned?”

“Answers on what you did to me,” Genji said, the old burning anger burning inside him. “What. . . what did you do to me?”

“I resurrected you,” she said simply.

“You know that isn’t what I mean,” he said, clenching his hands into fists, taking a step forward. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he hesitantly stepped back, his jaw tightening. “. . . Mercy.”

She smiled, pressing her hands together with a smile. “Ah, that’s better! Danke.” She crossed her legs neatly, carefully tidying the long, narrow bristles of her broom. “You want to know about your memories, don’t you?”

Genji hesitated. She seemed so at ease. Was this some sort of trap? It didn’t matter. He had to know. Taking a deep breath in, he nodded. “Yes. I do.”

“It’s simple, really,” Mercy explained. “Resurrections are a contract. After your brother killed you, I returned you to life, and in turn, you must serve me. But like a contract, there are the. . . terms and conditions, so to speak.”

“And what is that?” Genji asked, his heart pounding. He had the feeling he knew the answer already.

She smiled absent-mindedly, plucking a stray bristle from her broom, tossing it aside. “I call it pruning. It’s a bit of a mutually beneficial thing I do. I clean up your mind a little, snip memories here and there. The good times with your brother, ambitions or dreams you once had, and a man you were one quite close to. These things were all threats to your loyalty to me, and by removing them, it would make things easier on you. After all, if the world never showed you kindness before me, what reason do you have to try to leave?”

“You had no right to do that! Those were my memories!” Genji yelled, gritting his teeth. “If I left your service, the resurrection would be canceled! You didn’t have to do this to me!”

“Calm down, you’re making a fool of yourself,” Mercy sighed. “If you want to pursue those memories, I honestly don’t care. They’ll only bring you pain, but they do not interest me any more.” She set her broom aside, resting her chin on her hands. “But that was not why I called you here.”

Genji sunk to his knees, his head roaring like a storm at sea. He closed his eyes, trying not to feel sick. What else had she taken from him? What memories had she cut from his mind?

“I have things in motion the mortal world may never comprehend,” Mercy continued. “My first stages of my final plan will be in motion before the moon is full. I have spent months striking a bargain with a man by the name of Junkenstein, preparing to launch an assault on the castle at Adlersbrun. With the army he creates and my servants on the attack, I will take the castle and it’s rule. It will be my first true steps to bringing all the mortal world into my fold.”

“And you want me to help you,” Genji said, hanging his head, trying to process everything that had happened, everything he was being told.

Mercy pressed a finger to her cheek thoughtfully. “Not quite. While a portion of my servants work towards a contingency plan, I have a different quest for you. I have an old friend I need you to convince to join me. And failing that, well, give her my grand ultimatum.”

“I would kill you,” Genji said out loud, pushing to his feet shakily. “I would kill you, right here and now if I could.”

“Of course you would,” Mercy said, shaking her head slowly. “But if you tried that, I’d simply release my resurrection. Then you’d never find the memories I pruned, would you? Now go. Symmetra will send you to the town where my old friend once lived.”

Wait—at Ana’s home, Jesse was waiting, maybe with answers. He opened his mouth to protest, but after a moment, he turned away. The branches slowly opened, letting him pass without incident. What did it matter? He had to obey. He could only hope that Jesse would still be there when he returned.

He walked down the hall silently, his head swimming. He was so distracted, he hardly noticed he had reached Symmetra’s pedestal.

“The Witch sent a message,” Symmetra said. Genji didn’t bother asking how—he was tired of that question. “You’ll be traveling to the village of Lüttenstadt. She wants you to find the Irishwoman by the name of Moira O’Deorain.”

“How long will I be gone?” Genji asked, staring at the floor, wishing he didn’t have to teleport again, wishing he could go back to Ana’s home and find more answers from the man he had once loved.

The though made his heart pound. Who had told him that? He swallowed, leaning against a wall to steady himself. No one had suggested he had known Jesse McCree as more than a friend. There had been nothing to suggest feelings of amor.

But it felt true. Maybe it had been an unrequited feeling. Maybe it was some new attraction, completely separate from any memories he might have once had. But it felt right.

“The teleportation well is ready,” Symmetra said, lighting the dais. “Good luck in your mission, little demon.”

Genji put a hand to his chest. There was no heartbeat—he had grown used to that. But he swore he could feel something else in there, something stirring beyond the lost memories. He glanced at her one more time before stepping into the fire.

 

Good luck. . . he was certainly going to need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a been a little while since I updated, sorry! It may be Christmas the Second, but that doesn't mean I've stopped loving my spoopy AU
> 
> This chapter was a bit harder to write (and had almost 100% less cute mcgenji interactions :P) but I finally got it done. I'd love to write more of this, because I feel there's a lot more places this story could go (and a lot more mcgenji to happen) but I really struggle with sticking to long form narrative. If we get to. . . um, 300 kudos, I'll promise at least three more chapters, maybe more. (Heck, I might write more anyway if the mood strikes me. Curse my fickle nature!!)
> 
> I've had a lot of fun with this story, and whether or not it continues, thank you guys so much for all the love, and support, and the excellent comment! They make me so happy to read and I'm really glad you guys are enjoying my story as much as I do. Thanks to everyone!! I love you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Heheheheheheh
> 
> Sorry to end this on a cliffhanger, I just thought it was a really cool place to end it! I hate to say this, but despite the cliffhanger, this is probably just gonna be a oneshot. It's a spin off of the Junkenstein's Revenge universe. (I shall call it. . . the Swordslinger AU) As much as I loved cooking up this story, there probably won't be enough interest to warrant making it any longer than it is. Oh well, can't have your cake and eat it too, I guess.
> 
> EDIT: I'll be writing some more, actually, thanks to all the positive feedback! See you in future chapters friends!
> 
> I wanted to write something in the spoopy Halloween spirit, but because I can't write horror or suspense to save my life, y'all get Halloween themed shipping.
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your guys's thoughts and constructive criticisms! And happy Halloween!


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